Tuesday

  • sound bleed from headphones and buds is the scratchy tinny squeally colour to the aircon hum and electric drone and a commute
  • “left my access card at work. Can’t get in to change room. Will have to ask someone. There will be no one to ask. Can’t clump around in lycra, too embarrassing. Will have to get train.” Panic, a quick tumbling of why’s so that I write these sentences with a familiar guilt.
  • “Slow down, slow down, slow down.” You unkempt torrent of torrid ideas.